Legendary
by KaraStorm
Summary: Kirk & Spock early friendship story. The five year mission has just begun and already Kirk has to replace his first officer. Trading his gregarious old friend Gary Mitchell for the aloof and enigmatic Mr. Spock will take some getting used to. Fortunately for Kirk, the dangers of space provide good opportunities to get to know your shipmates. COMPLETE
1. Shaky Mission Start

Kirk resisted wiping his hand on his dusty uniform to get the damp out from between his palm and his phaser. His every move was being scrutinized by sidelong glances. Two months into this mission and at moments like this it still felt like two days. He didn't know his crew and they didn't know him, but their lives hung on his every action.

Spock stepped closer, head bent over his tricorder. The device's strap flapped in the breeze. Kirk was slowly learning to rely on his replacement first officer. He had relied on Mitchell's presence too much and didn't want to make the same mistake. The Vulcan seemed like a rock through to the core, not just on the surface. Kirk wasn't used to that and needed to figure out how Spock fit into his leadership model.

Kirk turned back to the too quiet city. Someone had armed the natives of V Pegasi 9. Starfleet wanted to blame the Klingons, although the planet should not have been of interest to them. But having weapons hadn't made the natives into soldiers so they should be easy enough to detain. In theory.

Kirk gestured over his head for the security detail to move forward. The orders were to clear this city of all non native weapons and submit what they found as evidence to the Federation.

"Perhaps we should use something to subdue them all?" one of the security detail said. "Then just walk in."

"Crewman, Prime Directive is still in play." Kirk decided to disregard that the man hadn't used any rank to address him, had perhaps been addressing everyone by thinking aloud. "We're not showing them any more than they already have access to now."

Spock said, "Mass hallucination often causes more cultural disruption through explanation by magic."

McCoy said. "How can it? And how can something that knocks everyone unconscious not be less impactful than marching in, guns drawn?"

Kirk replied, "It takes a change in status at HQ to make it so. Stay back, Bones. In camp, preferably. You're new at this and I don't think you realize the potential danger."

"Oh, I know it all right." Gripping his kit, he added, "Keep an eye on him, Spock."

Spock raised his head in apparent confusion.

"Ach," McCoy said. "Unfeeling Hobgoblin."

Kirk sent the redshirt Goddard to scout ahead.

"I hope you don't take that personally," Kirk said to Spock.

Spock didn't look up this time. "I am incapable of taking anything personally, Captain." He said this like he meant it and Kirk began to understand McCoy's growing habit of ribbing the Vulcan until he reacted. Kirk respected the Vulcan and McCoy's lack of respect irked him, both personally and professionally. But Spock's bald statement gave him an understanding of McCoy's motivation.

Spock wasn't Mitchell and Kirk didn't expect him to be. As the weeks passed since the incidents sparked by crossing the galaxy barrier, Kirk found himself grateful Spock was Mitchell's opposite. Except that it left Kirk truly alone in his command, a position he had not foreseen.

If Spock were capable of understanding human interaction he'd have given in after so many years of exposure. Either he was stubborn beyond anything Kirk could imagine or he truly was incapable. The latter was hard to accept of someone so otherwise brilliant. The ship had a central computer, and it had Spock. He was a dream command asset, just not a personal one. That Spock bristled at McCoy's taunts gave Kirk hope, even as he found himself repeatedly forcing McCoy to back down even in the short month the doctor had been aboard.

Spock had the same right the rest of them did to conduct his life as he chose. Kirk felt an unexpected wave of protective affection for the man standing beside him, intent up on his tricorder.

"Anything?" Kirk said, mostly just to say something.

"Goddard appears to be returning."

"Good." Kirk raised his phaser and pointed it at the sky.

Goddard caught his breath. "There is something large and metal and out of place just two hundred meters ahead, sir."

"Where are the armed natives relative to that?"

Spock replied, "They are scattered among the upper stories of the buildings along with the weapons, Captain. They are not making it easy, despite their lack of experience with urban defense."

"We're going to end up in a phaser fight whether we want one or not. Ours on stun . . . theirs possibly on kill." Kirk had spoken this aloud, but he really needed to convince himself that this was the only way. At least it appeared from the scans that there were very few noncombatants left in the city. Or perhaps that was a sign that the natives were spoiling for a real fight.

Kirk waved to signal again and, ducking, they all ran forward, through alien brush, past small outbuildings to a large interstellar transport container. It had been bent on impact, apparently dropped from some height. It was empty. If they could find enough evidence here, they might not have to go farther.

"Anything?" Kirk asked Spock, who was scanning the warped metal, tricorder in one hand, phaser in the other.

"It shows residue from no fewer than 3 other planets. Possible biological contamination by formerly being used to ship foodstuff-"

Kirk cut him off. "Anything we can use?"

"No, sir."

Kirk wanted to punch the container. He settled for clutching his left hand into a fist. His instincts were screaming at him that the situation was not as it seemed, but he had no evidence of that with which to direct two security details, let alone a logic- and fact-driven first officer.

Kirk wanted to say aloud, "I think these orders are a bad idea and we should wait for authorization for a mass sedation to do this." But that would be expressing doubt and he would not second guess himself once he'd launched a mission he'd been directly ordered to conduct. He had hated that in his superiors as a lieutenant. All eyes were on him. And right now he wasn't being the commander he wanted to be.

Kirk's communicator chirped.

Uhura's voice came over the com, "Captain, the USS Potemkin is approaching the V Pegasi system."

"They are?" Kirk blurted, but recovered himself. "I won't ask now why we weren't informed. We'll take all the help we can get." These words sounded good coming out, but he wondered if Starfleet doubted him and thought he needed backup from someone with 9 years in the captain's seat.

Spock began circling the container, tricorder whirling. Kirk stayed with him, phaser raised. He needed to bring his thoughts back to the present.

Nothing moved in the buildings around them except some washing left on on a line and silvery streamers that flew from the corners of the stone buildings, perhaps to keep some unwanted animal away. He felt like an performer with a bored audience waiting for the next act to begin.

Kirk opened his communicator. "Lieutenant, verify with Captain Okudo that this planet doesn't have a change in status vis a vis the Prime Directive. He's presumably talked to 'Fleet more recently than we have."

Spock and he had circled the container all the way around to where it formed a barrier to the city. Upon Uhura's acknowledgement, Kirk flipped the communicator closed and with subconscious skill, flipped it down to his belt with his left hand. Something caught his eye in the distance. A structure, like a silo, sat far from the outskirts of town and the other multistory buildings. A red beam of light flashed on the brushed metal beside them, lighting Spock's uniform, making the closed area of his arms around his tricorder glow for an instant as though he cradled a live coal.

Kirk twisted, threw his back into his first officer and fired in the direction of the silo. Yellow and white filled the right side of Kirk's vision along with a searing pain through his brain and chest.

For long-stretched moments there was nothing. He hadn't fallen. His back was ramrod taut and his knees were gelatinous. He was sinking and he could hear his own breath harsh and loud. In and out. Then nothing. He had to force himself to draw in another shallow breath as he sank.

Something was holding him up.

Sound returned in a roar. Phasers were firing. Shouted commands. He wanted to add his, but he couldn't speak. The world tilted and there was pain beyond anything Kirk had ever imagined.

"Captain." This was Spock's voice. Calm even with all the firing. Calm but not empty.

"Withdraw," Kirk said. It didn't come out commandingly. His voice was raw breath. "They are shielding, cloaking-" That's what it is. He understood, fleetingly, through the agony, what had been bothering him, small discrepancies between scans and the view from the ground, then the thoughts were lost.

A new voice. Younger. Very firm. Not to be denied. "We're covering, Commander. Go."

Movement. Jarring movement. And pain. And something bearing him along with inhuman strength. Robot strength. Kirk drew in another unwilling breath and let himself be grateful for that strength.

"Keep breathing, Captain."

Kirk forced himself to and didn't feel more pain from it as expected. The voice was so close. Spock was carrying him. The movement might kill him before forgetting to breathe did.

Kirk was put down, a little hard, a little panicked. The pain faded so fast Kirk raised his head, but it was impossible to hold it up, and it hit the ground hard.

"Jim? Stay with us. Talk to me." McCoy. So warm, that voice.

"The scans," Kirk tried to say. It was hopeless that he could be understood. He cracked his eyes open. The purple-hued blue of the sky contrasted with the uniforms of his First and Medical Officers.

"I'm putting you on full life support," McCoy said. A hexagonally edged collar came down over Kirk's neck. He quivered in animal distress as it clamped on. Hands gripped his arms, one on each side. Pain flooded in again, but not as bad as before. It tasted metallic, and hollow, and he couldn't pin down what part of his body was causing it even as it threatened to consume his heart.

Panic.

"Hold still, Jim." McCoy, so matter of fact.

The collar whirled, pricked, whirled and Kirk's head cleared, his vision tunneled out. McCoy popped vials onto his hypo and administered them. Kirk couldn't feel it. But he could feel a hold on his other arm. Spock. His touch-telepathic officer who touched no one had an iron grip on him.

"Can you carry him the rest of the way to camp?"

"Affirmative."

Kirk was lifted and pain spiked heat behind his eyeballs and made him exhale forcefully. Then he had difficulty drawing another breath. But the collar was oxygenating him, so it did not matter. He gave into it and with that loss of will to breathe, his limbs went limp.

"Captain?" Spock's voice was not calm, and Kirk jerked his head from a wave of pain that twisted his heart around backwards.

Kirk said, "I'm here." Breathy. Not commanding. Doesn't matter.

This ride was smoother than the last, but the pain was higher. They stepped through a crowd of peering eyes, redshirts, worried, and into a camp shelter formed by equipment boxes and a tent.

"Put him here."

Kirk was lowered gently this time. His limbs arranged. A blanket tucked around him. The pain faded to bad but tolerable. He ached everywhere with tiny pulsing throbs flickering through his limbs.

Kirk blinked his eyes open. Spock was standing beside the stretcher, hands on his tricorder, but not using it.

Kirk couldn't understand where the pain had gone. Perhaps a coincidence of the medication from the collar. The tent moved in a way that made him rock as though in a boat. So drained. He could sink and drown and not care. He wanted to tilt his head to the side to rest, maybe sleep, but the needles from the collar into his neck pulled uncomfortably on his fragile insides when he did so. "Bones."

"Right here, Jim. We're going to get you fixed up. Just hang in there."

Kirk felt his eyebrows lowering in confusion at an optimistic Leonard McCoy. He shifted his eyes to look at Spock, who was using his tricorder now, to scan Kirk, which required a lot of adjusting of dials. At least he was back to normal.

McCoy chattered as he worked, changing out the vials installed into the collar. "I remember you liked to push your luck. Looks like it ran out already."

Spock said, "He stepped in front of a blast that would have struck me."

"Isn't Spock more expendable than you?"

Despite the needles, Kirk shook his head. "No." He wanted to explain that he hadn't thought ahead to his actions, but couldn't say that much.

"It was a reflected blast, otherwise . . ." Spock uncharacteristically trailed off.

Spock put his tricorder at his side and stood straight. "If I am no longer needed here . . ."

"Go on," McCoy said. "I've done all I can for him planetside. But given the extent of cellular disruption. I don't think a transporter is a good idea. Even with the additional wait to evac."

"Doctor!" Came a shout from outside. "Doctor McCoy!"

McCoy pushed himself to his feet and went out. Spock lingered at the foot of the stretcher. Kirk tossed his chin as best he could to tell him to go on, and he did. He was in the command line now and needed to take over the mission, not hang around here babysitting his captain.

Kirk was left alone in the tent with the bulky collar to keep him company. It whirred and clicked and smelled of the ship. He breathed as deeply as he could just to feel more alive. He floated. He couldn't sense the stretcher under him. He had failed. Somehow. Doing what came by instinct.

But he was alive. And his officers had acted exemplary in the crisis, had shown they had far more depth than Kirk imagined. He smiled faintly in the filtered light coming through the shelter's walls. If he could just stay alive long enough to earn their loyalty, all would be right in the universe.

Except Spock, who had not jumped in to replace him, had instead burdened himself with Kirk's mistake. He wore blue for a reason. It was Kirk who had promoted him to the command line. But he refused to believe that was a mistake. Spock's actions had been logical under a different logic, one Kirk hadn't expected him, of all people, to fall prey to.

At least the pain was a lot lower. That had been the kind of pain that could make a man crazy.

It had been a simple mission. Maybe that had been the first critical mistake, assuming that.

The sound of weapons woke Kirk and the surging memory of the heart aching pain startled him to panicked awareness. His heart thrummed in his ears. But the pain wasn't real, it was only a memory. He didn't feel great, every muscle in his upper body prickled and his bones throbbed, but he didn't feel anywhere near that bad.

The shadows of the storage containers on the tent wall hadn't moved. The distance and intensity of the blasts didn't offer much clue as to who was firing, or had an advantage. He tried to sit up, but the shackle weight of the collar and his overwhelming weakness made it impossible. His belt was empty of communicator and weapon. That was an oversight.

The pain from attempting to sit up gradually faded. Pain nothing like the memory, thankfully, which washed through him again as a memory, making him stop breathing. The collar whirred louder as he held his breath. He studied the glowing tent ceiling as it rose and fell like an animal breathing. Then it fluttered. The stakes hadn't been tightened very well, or some of the stays were missing. Someone needed to be corrected regarding that.

Footsteps approached.

"Captain." It was Spock.

He came beside the stretcher, tricorder running.

"I'm all right," Kirk said. "Report."

"There is little to report. We are in a stalemate with the natives. The Potemkin is sending personnel to assist."

Kirk burned with annoyance at this, but forced it to flow out of him. "Good. Any other casualties?"

"McCoy is tending to some minor injuries at a medical station set up closer to the city. They will be evacuated here if needed, when possible." He sounded so cool and calm. The subject could be the weather.

No command seemed worth the effort of Kirk speaking. When he remained silent, Spock read the tricorder screen, made a small adjustment, studied it some more. The exposure to the tricorder bothered Kirk. Spock was seeing through him.

"I said I'm all right."

Spock let the tricorder hang by his side on the strap. "Do you have any orders, Captain?"

"Be careful."

"Acknowledged."

Kirk strained against the lethargy to think of something relevant to say. The stretcher seemed to sway but it was likely the tent walls moving. "Something's not right with the scans."

"The natives do appear to have been given or sold some stealth or cloaking technology. Undoubtedly how they planned to remain under the protection of the Federation as an unadvanced society while taking advantage of said higher technology."

Kirk nodded. "As long as you know." He swallowed, which wasn't easy with the collar. He wanted to rhetorically ask why it was always weapons undeveloped planets wanted. Why not farm robots or weather machines. But he didn't want to waste his breath.

Spock started to speak, but stopped. It was a first for the Vulcan.

"Thank you for saving my life, Captain."

"You would be here instead of me."

Spock seemed vaguely uncomfortable. He latched his hands behind his back and bent his head forward. "Doctor McCoy believes the systemic disruption of the blast would have been considerably harder on me, despite my overall superior strength. Vulcans rely more heavily on a functioning voluntary nervous system than do humans."

Kirk let the corner of his mouth twitch. "Worth it, in that case." He tossed his head. "Report back when anything changes."

Spock departed with one of those prim nods of the head.

The empty tent fluttered, and Kirk felt buoyant as though the stretcher drifted on water without fear of sinking. The memory of the pain came back this time without touching him, just floated through him like a movie, and with a jolt he realized he'd only felt it when Spock was touching him. Could Spock's touch be actively painful? Was that why he refrained from touching others? He'd never heard that of Vulcans in general, but Spock wasn't like other Vulcans.


	2. The Pick Up

Kirk must have slept. He woke to an unfamiliar figure beside the stretcher. A leggy woman with close-cropped hair in Starfleet blue, no braid on the sleeve, medical insignia on the patch.

"Captain Kirk," she said, stepping around the bins and the stretcher with almost arachnid ease.

"You are?" Kirk asked.

"Ensign Pullman. From the Potemkin. We're evacuating you."

Kirk suppressed his disappointment at this, but it wasn't as if he was of any use to the mission flat on his back.

Two other figures in blue appeared, one an Andorian, the other a dark skinned humanoid of unclear origin sprouting small forehead horns. Pullman directed them to take up the stretcher.

Kirk had the strangest idea that the three of them could be a ruse and he was being kidnapped. The idea made him chuckle.

"All right, Captain?" Pullman waved for the stretcher to stop. They were outside between the tent and a tall cluster of brush. She bent over him to check the status lights on the life support collar.

"All good," Kirk said.

"It doesn't look like your CMO gave you any happy drugs." She frowned in confusion then seemed to shrug it off.

She waved for them to continue and minutes later Kirk was loaded into a Starfleet shuttle.

The two crewmembers took the pilot seats and Pullman latched the stretcher into the back and took up a jumpseat on the wall opposite. The three of them worked smoothly, making a few jokes and inside references. Kirk tried to ignore how well Pullman's uniform fit her lithe body. But he had a good imagination and no other decent distractions.

Pullman jerked on the stretcher and when it held firm shouted forward. "Ready in back."

"I bet you are." and "Aren't you always." Came floating back.

"Don't you wish," Pullman called forward pleasantly.

They were airborne and after some shuddering of the vessel, approached upper atmosphere. Pullman released her flight harness to lean closer. "Can I get you anything, sir?"

He wanted to request a Scotch on the rocks, just in jest, but didn't. He shook his head. But uncomfortable silent minutes later he opted for being personable.

"How long have you been on the Potemkin, Ensign?"

This brought her to stillness. "Are you trying to poach me, Captain?"

"No. Just making conversation." He resisted laughing because it could seem depreciating.

"Seven months, sir."

"I know this is going to sound even more like I'm trying to poach you, but how is it on the Potemkin?"

"I like it, sir."

"Lots of shipmates you identify with?"

"Not these two." She said, but was grinning as she said it. "But others, yes sir."

Kirk stared at the ceiling of the shuttle. "Captain Okudo must be better at cultivating female talent. I don't think I have any female crew quite as . . . energetic as you."

She made a small sound that Kirk couldn't put a meaning on and sat back in the jumpseat. After a minute, she said, "Permission to speak freely, sir?"

Kirk grew acutely aware of his strapped down state and the weight of the collar keeping him alive. "By all means, Ensign. I am at your mercy."

There was a long pause. "You have quite a reputation, sir. I suspect that has something to do with it."

Kirk didn't answer right away, but he couldn't think of anything more than, "Do I?"

"Yes indeedee, Captain." She sat back, one foot up on the stretcher to help brace it against vibration, head tilted inquisitively. Kirk couldn't imagine any of his female crew coming anywhere near this level of comfortableness, in his presence or otherwise.

She went on, "And you're a legend, sir."

"I don't know why."

"You're the youngest Captain in the history of Starfleet." Her voice had gone factual. He couldn't decide if that meant she was proceeding carefully or just wanted to make a point.

"I am, but that's not . . ."

"You were given the Galaxial Barrier mission. You fought off your first officer who had become a god and destroyed an entire automated base with just his mind."

That blunt summary took Kirk a moment to process.

"Everyone has been following your mission. Is that an unfair summary of events, Captain?"

"No." His voice didn't come out very strong. He sounded far away. And he was, but not in the past, he was hovering somewhere beyond the hull of the shuttle wondering how different he could seem from the outside as from the in. That gap had grown much larger since he'd been made captain, and it made him uneasy. How could he lead if he was so far removed?

"I apologize, sir. Perhaps I shouldn't have brought it up."

"No. Don't. It's not that. I was thinking about something else." Kirk tried to rub his hair back, but his hand was tied down. He forced himself to lay still or he'd have to ask to be unstrapped and that his ego refused to allow.

"You're not out of line, Ensign," he said with friendly ease. He wanted to ask the ETA to the ship, but that would belie what he'd just said. He thought over their conversation. He truly did want to understand what he was doing wrong, leadership-wise, with the women in his crew.

Kirk said, "What you said about reputation. I wouldn't think of sleeping with my crew, so I don't suppose it occurred to me that my reputation could be an issue."

Her face became thoughtful. Now she did speak carefully. "You wouldn't sleep with your crew, sir?"

"By no means. I will admit there are grey areas in command, and things I could do better, but that is an absolute grade A-1 error. It is all downside. Personalities cause enough trouble if they aren't set on the same goal. I cannot imagine the fallout from romantic entanglements at the top of the command chain."

"Oh."

Kirk gingerly turned his head to better look at her. She seemed to be processing this as new information rather than doubting his veracity. He wanted to say, did you really think I would? But decided it didn't matter. What did matter is that others on the ship probably thought the same, and that needed to be addressed.

The collar beeped. She fetched out and opened a medipack and replaced the vials on the collar with full ones. She was bent over him, concentrating on the task, but said chummily in the voice every medic uses to keep their charge awake and alive, "How are you doing, Captain?"

"I'll admit, I've felt better."

"Well, without a few of these, I guarantee you'd be feeling a lot worse."

The collar, his entire body felt as if they were in a G force simulator. He could inventory his aches, but didn't want to. He tried to think of something else to say to avoid thinking about his body. But thinking wasn't easy and his body was insistent.

She was sitting back again and braced her foot on the stretcher. The vibration became tolerable.

Even her well-fitted uniform wasn't a very good distraction anymore.

She said, "I suspect rest is the best thing for you, sir."

His eyes had been trying to close but his ego chaffed at sleeping in front of her. He nodded in agreement because he couldn't lie, but didn't want to give in. The burst of medication was making him not care about anything.


	3. Regeneration Tank

Pain snaked through Kirk's heart. Panic and pain in equal parts, and something else, something he now found familiar, but distinctly alien. He was falling, but not falling, something, something in a world of silence was holding him up. Something had latched onto him so firmly it had become a part of him and losing it would be a kind of waking death. A hundred years of waking death.

So familiar. So Alien.

"Spock?" Kirk snapped awake, heart throbbing in his ears.

"That's your first officer, isn't it, sir?"

Kirk required a moment to figure out where he was. Shuttle. Potemkin's crewmembers. Pullman. That was her name.

"Do you need to get a message to your officer, Captain? We can rely a message."

Kirk shook his head. It was Spock. It was Spock's pain. Not pain as part of some kind of incompatibility between Vulcan and human. Just Spock's pain.

Kirk's entire body tingled in horror. Pullman leaned over the collar and flicked one of the switches on it.

"Looks okay. Can I do anything for you?"

"No." Brusque. He wanted to be alone with his realization.

She sat back, more at attention than before. Calm, watchful, attention.

Kirk tried to see through the roof of the shuttle. Was Spock always in that much pain? Were all Vulcans like that? He had no answers.

"What's our ETA?" Kirk asked.

"Thirty six minutes. I can put you on a comm to your crew, if you want, sir."

"It can wait." But a moment later, he said, "But I need a status report."

She went forward and, after some low conversation, returned. "They are still subduing the natives and confiscating anything outside their tech level. Only minor casualties."

"The planet is too close to Federation space to remain under the Prime Directive." Kirk said this without thinking. He amended it by saying, "Obviously, it would be ideal if they were, but they are too close to the new traffic lanes to sustain it. It would have been better eased into it by the sociologists than the weapons' smugglers." It seemed so clear now, when before it was only orders and how best to implement them. He wouldn't make that mistake of perspective again.

Kirk must have drifted off again because he woke to someone shaking him. "Captain. Do you want to be beamed aboard? Your CMO wanted you to avoid the transporter, but if you are feeling critical we can override him." She flicked something on the collar and moved away, but was still sitting forward, ready to act.

It took half a minute to process what she had said. He said, "My CMO would rather no one ever get in a transporter." He felt his mouth smiling faintly. "He said something about exacerbating the cellular damage."

"That's possible, sir. Your oxygenation is good, but the collar is maxed out on toxin removal. You are probably noticing that buildup. It will make you feel like hell."

I'm a sack of half dead cells, Kirk thought to himself. He moved his fingers to reassure himself that he still could. But I'm not dead and neither is my first officer. Not this mission. I didn't kill either one of us.

But thinking of Spock made him ache. He pictured him as he had been on the planet, holding his tricorder, calm as the sea. Was that only a thin mask, hiding all that pain all the time? The thought horrified Kirk in a way he had never been before. Spock moved through his duties with a stoic precision that Kirk envied, because he'd been lulled into thinking it meant there was peacefulness beneath it. What if he'd been entirely wrong? What if underneath was a seething ball of emotional agony?

In the front of the shuttle the radio crackled to life and the rumble of docking maneuvers started.

"Almost there, sir. Ten minutes, at most."

Kirk wanted to bristle at her continued reassurance, but in all honesty, he partly needed it. If she really thought he was a legend, she was doing remarkably well. A legend who woke up calling for his first mate. Kirk twisted out a wry smile for himself. He didn't want to care about his image in front of an Ensign from a ship he wasn't assigned to. But this was the reputation he couldn't help care about.

"I'm not a legend, Ensign."

"Begging your pardon, sir. That's not for you to decide." He could hear a smile in her voice.

Kirk smiled too, then felt a pang at losing access to this banter as soon as the shuttle docked. He shook his head and tried not to care.

He was only the Captain. He was only doing his job and not particularly well. And he maybe wasn't strong enough for this duty. He had waited too long with Mitchell despite Spock's clear warnings. He hadn't been able to help his long-time friend and refused to recognize the greater danger because it was inconvenient to how things were supposed to work out.

And he felt the same fear regarding Spock. He may be helpless to do anything for him either. But Kirk didn't really know the Vulcan, and he couldn't just ask him what was going on. Perhaps he could contrive to touch him again, to see if the pain was an ongoing experience for him. But that was silly. He should just talk to him. Kirk was his commander, after all.

Kirk's muddled head waded through possibilities without deciding anything or relieving his anxiety by formulating a plan. Any plan. Even a bad plan. He heard the subspace crackle again but found himself unstirred by it. It was probably a good thing they were docking. He'd give McCoy hell if this shuttle ride turned out to be unnecessary. But Leonard McCoy wasn't the old country doctor he claimed to be, so likely it was the wisest course, but McCoy could be damn irrational about transporters.

Spock was probably already giving McCoy hell. That is, if they had time to think about him in the middle of the mission. Kirk had a suspicion now that Spock was frequently thinking about him. It made him feel strange to imagine it. Spock could think about a lot of things: advanced astral physics, alien molecular botany, six dimensional computing. All of those seemed appropriate. Was it possible that phenomenal mind was fixed on Kirk, after just two short months, hence the pain? It was such a very odd idea, but it fit the facts as observed, and Kirk couldn't dismiss it without contrary evidence. In his own sorry state, he didn't have enough defenses to avoid feeling terribly sorry for the Vulcan. He hadn't gotten used to Spock, from a command perspective nor from a personal perspective, but he had gotten used to feeling affection for him. That had been remarkably easy.

Could the pain be for him? Kirk? So implausible. So awful to imagine day in and day out. With no chance of relief. A hundred years of half death. No. Waking death.

The shuttle tapped to a landing and the familiar sound like sand particles rubbing on the hull began as the shuttle bay filled with atmosphere.

Pullman came to the back of the shuttle-Kirk hadn't realized she'd gone forward-and began unhooking the stretcher. She glanced at him, paused mid-cinching of a strap, and stared. Then looked away and finished up.

She positioned herself awkwardly and called over her shoulder, "Fetch the antigravs, Broder. They should be bringing them to the shuttle door."

The shuttle door hissed open and air exchanged in a rush and the pressure again equalized. Pullman turned to Kirk and reached for his face, hesitated, then deliberately swiped her thumb over his temple, sweeping away moisture Kirk hadn't realized was there.

Kirk was too tired for the egotistical disgrace of this to hit him fully, but a burn started low in his gut then rose to his cheeks.

The antigravs were being arranged under the stretcher and other crewmembers were coming on and off the shuttle. It didn't smell like the Enterprise.

"They're going to take care of you, sir," Pullman said as she latched the last corner of the stretcher down. She smiled faintly, "Although that probably wasn't what you were thinking about."

Kirk faintly shook his head, relieved beyond expectation at being understood.

The shuttle bay was dimmer than the shuttle, but he could still read stripes.

"Captain Okudo," Kirk said from his horizontal position, "Permission to come aboard?"

"Of course, Jim. My CMO is itching to try out his new regeneration tank on you." He waved them on and Kirk recognized his footsteps following, giving orders.

What followed was a blur of activity. Too many people were touching him. Unknown equipment was being moved around him and inserted into him, and the drugs changed. The pain returned: throbbing, deep tissue aching. He welcomed it as real pain he could understand. And before he could tire of it, everything faded out.

"Jim?"

Kirk had the strangest sense of having been awake for hours, perhaps days, but not awake enough to comprehend his wakefulness. It made him feel utterly exhausted. He moved his hand and was pleased to feel it hit his own face, which he rubbed vigorously. His hand was working well. He stared at it and beyond it, at McCoy.

"Bones."

Behind McCoy stood Spock, whose eyes held a well-like depth for just an instant before his visage flattened out and even Kirk could imagine believing there was nothing behind the mask of his face.

"Report, Mr. Spock."

Kirk listened with half an ear to a retelling of events and the inventory of what was recovered. Upon Spock winding down, Kirk attempted to sit up.

"Little early, Jim."

But Kirk managed. "I've been down for too long," he said. But his heart was racing, which was obvious to all from the monitor's noises.

The Potemkin's CMO came in with another doctor. The two of them were a thin and bird like pair, could have been brother and sister, and Kirk didn't recognize them at all from before he went under. They pronounced him in no danger, despite the monitor's complaints.

Kirk spent a long minute gauging whether he could swing his legs over the side of the bed or whether he'd simply pass out if he tried. He managed and felt better, not worse. Kirk stretched each shoulder with relish while McCoy argued with him.

"Bones, I want to go back to my ship."

"There's no rush."

Kirk looked at the hands McCoy held up to stop him. "Well, I want to be upright for a bit."

McCoy dropped his hands. "That's fine. Just stay where you are. You're pushing it."

Kirk resisted looking up at Spock. He wasn't just pushing it for himself and he didn't want to give that away.

"How are the crew faring for injuries?" Kirk asked.

This properly distracted McCoy for a while, letting Kirk get used to being upright without the doctor's scrutiny. Out of the corner of his eye he could see Spock drawing into himself, hands behind his back, at ease, but not in the least at ease.

Kirk's anxiety about what he needed to do was shifting into curiosity about his reticent first officer. When you were in command and didn't know what to do, the first thing to do was exude confidence while you gathered facts. Kirk sat up straighter.

After some wrangling, McCoy agreed to a round of mild physio for Kirk. Spock excused himself to return to his duties.

"Yours and mine, I'm afraid," Kirk said. At the door to sickbay, Kirk halted him. "Thank you, Mr. Spock."

Spock stopped and gave a distracted nod. That hadn't been the right thing to do. The Vulcan disliked being singled out.

"Bloody elf has higher priorities," McCoy grumbled well before the door sealed closed and Spock might not have heard.

Kirk's hand twitched, wanting to hit him. The desire was so strong it made Kirk reel to remain still.

"Well, let's get you started," McCoy said, directly the full body physio machine over to the bed.

Kirk badly need to burn off this anger. "Yes, let's."

Halfway through a round of leg presses with almost no resistance except Kirk's battered body, which was bad enough, Kirk said, "Bones, if you don't ease up on Spock I'm going to do something we will both regret. But you more." He spoke with clear controlled anger, which had faded until he'd brought the topic up.

"I'll let up," McCoy grumbled.

Kirk moved to work his arms. "If you ever get a real reaction out of him it will be extreme dislike of you. And what will that have accomplished?"

"Are you kidding? I'd call that a victory."

Kirk did four more lifts before replying. "I wouldn't."

"Jim, he gives as well as he gets if you hadn't noticed."

"Because you haven't left him a choice. Lay off. I'm serious."

McCoy shifted the machine around so Kirk was working his abdominals, but he didn't have any strength left. He sat hunched over, giving great attention to the task of breathing, wondering if his body might just fail then and there.

"You going to reprimand me?" McCoy honestly sounded like he was enjoying himself. Kirk suddenly understood how he could be so caring yet go through a divorce nasty enough to send him into space.

"No." Kirk sat back, swallowed hard, breathed some more. "I'm not going to bother reprimanding you. I'm going to punch your lights out."

McCoy blinked at him. "You really mean that?" He didn't seem alarmed. More intrigued. It made Kirk flounder.

"You are only the second person in a Starfleet uniform I've ever had the urge to punch unconscious, McCoy." Kirk let the anger flow through all the way to his fingertips and grabbed the handles to do a few abdominal curls using that energy. "And now that I think about it, you both have Irish names." Kirk did one curl after another against the will of every cell in his body. "I hope . . . Finnegan . . . also . . . went . . . through . . . a terrible . . . divorce."

Kirk dropped his arms, breathing again with great concentration. "What a happy thought."

McCoy was studying him, but with less the eye of an amused psychologist and more that of someone shocked dumb.

Kirk decided to drive the point home. "An even happier thought would be if his wife slowly poisoned him."

Kirk hunched forward, trying to recover for another set. There was no human way he could manage.

"Finnegan, eh?" McCoy drawled.

"Don't," Kirk said. "You may kill me here."


	4. A Hundred Years

After a restful round of blood detoxification, Kirk insisted on getting out of bed and forced McCoy to tell his yeoman to bring him a uniform from the ship. His timing was impeccable. Okudo entered minutes later.

Kirk stood straighter in his uniform. Same rank didn't mean much with this kind of gap in experience. "Captain."

"Captain Kirk. Either my CMO is a liar or you are doing remarkably well."

"He's stubborn as a mule," McCoy said. "Captains," he added with a bow in their direction.

"I hope you'll remain long enough to accept an invitation for dinner at my table," Okudo said. "I don't get a chance to comraderize nearly enough."

Kirk smiled, forced at first, but it turned into a real one. He was very glad to be alive and on his feet. "Of course, Captain. I appreciate the invitation." And the delay before compiling reports.

Kirk, flanked by his first and medical officers, followed Captain Okudo into the officer's mess. It was painted brightly compared to the one on the Enterprise, a bit of visual relief from the rest of the ship. Chairs shifted as the officers already present stood up. Kirk spotted Pullman in the corner on the right, and couldn't help but notice she didn't seem to want to be noticed.

Kirk stopped at the first table on the left, full of engineering officers. "At ease, gentlemen, ladies," Kirk said. Shoulders curved and chairs were adjusted.

"Honored to have you on board, sir," a lieutenant said.

"Thank you, Lieutenant. Honored to partake of your fine medical equipment."

Smiles broke out.

They moved on to the next table on the left. Kirk tried to catch Pullman's eye across the room, but she steadfastly stared at the door. He was a little disappointed in her. It wasn't the attitude he expected. But then again, he was learning how little he understood any female crew. His options were to assume his instincts were mistaken and avoid an encounter she clearly didn't want, or to act as he always did and arrange to get his own way. No, he wouldn't be driven to inaction by lack of understanding. That wouldn't be him.

Okudo had made it to the food synthesizer and was selling McCoy on some custom programmed Southern food. Kirk, with Spock acting as his shadow, finished greeting the other tables in the room, saving the one in the corner for last.

In glances he assessed how she could see him coming, could see her bracing herself. She glanced at the woman beside her, a Lt. Commander in sciences. Then Kirk understood. His reputation made him dangerous when women were their own worst enemy in the line of command.

At the corner table, Kirk greeted the highest ranking first.

"Lt. Commander . . .?"

"Schimmil, Captain." She shook hands perfunctorily. Her hands were cold. Kirk found himself thinking, cold fish, then stopped himself. He really knew nothing to base an assessment on, other than she wasn't warm to him immediately upon meeting him. And she was likely Pullman's mentor.

Kirk returned Pullman's nod as introductions went around. When they passed her, she was clearly relieved. Kirk tried to square that with her earlier self-confidence. He began to suspect that the variation in behavior was higher for female crew, more circumstance dependent. He didn't remember ever hearing that, but it would explain things. His own crew were likely just as full of potential, but he never saw it. He'd have to create more opportunities for them to blossom.

He encouraged some small science talk between Spock and Schimmil to stall departing from the table. But the two of them would either talk all day or stop immediately after exchanging basic research pursuits, and they chose to stop immediately. Spock waited on him. But Kirk couldn't let it go. Even as embarrassed as he still was by her needing to dry his eye before anyone else saw. Or perhaps because of it, he needed to take ownership of the situation.

She had relaxed and fallen into a watchful state of observation. He waited until she looked his way and gave her time to realize he was not going to let greetings slide by anonymously. She had a mask for this. Only a deep breath she held gave her away.

"I'm glad to get a chance to thank you for your care, Ensign. You are one of the most skillful as well as entertaining medics I've ever encountered."

Her face was coloring. He was afraid she might mumble, but she rose to it strong and clear. "Thank you, Captain."

The sidelong glances from the rest of the table began. Kirk thought, that's not the way to run a department. He glanced back at Spock to signal that they were departing and found his gaze locked on him already.

He took a moment to find his voice. "Shall we eat? You'll excuse us." His last look around, broad smile intact, which was meant to be a parting shot of sorts. But he found Pullman glancing between Spock and himself with a furrowed brow. Kirk nodded and turned away. The scrutiny made him uneasy and the unexpectedness of his own uneasiness blindsiding him.

At the table he sat quietly, letting Okudo do all the talking. He felt fatigued and worn down, and vulnerable. But it was his own fault he'd revealed so much, injury or not. By the end of the meal he was trying not to sway.

"Time to go, I'd say," McCoy said when Okudo suggested breaking out his Saurian Brandy.

They were alone in the mess. The rest of the officers had eaten quickly and departed.

Kirk considered standing, then decided he needed to gather his strength to manage it. "I have to pass on the hospitality of your bar, Captain."

"Oh, Jim, of course you do. I got carried away. Forgot you were on death's door just three days ago."

"Was it that long ago?" Kirk asked. He didn't know what day it was.

Okudo laughed and gestured for them all to depart.

Back on the Enterprise, Kirk was allowed to sleep in his quarters and considered this a dear gift from McCoy. But he woke at oh three hundred and stared at the mesh partition in his quarters. He had to figure out Spock. He couldn't let it go, as tempting as it was to let the private Vulcan remain as private as he clearly wanted to be.

Kirk wished he could speak to someone else about it. He badly needed advice, a second read on the situation. But he'd spill his guts to Ensign Pullman long before he'd trust McCoy with that much ammunition.

Kirk wondered if he had a Pullman on his ship. Or several. He very well might. He needed to figure out how to give them space to prove themselves.

McCoy ordered Kirk off the bridge for a week. A week. Starfleet held off on issuing new orders suspiciously the same amount of time. Kirk filled his time by briefly visiting each department then, when he could shake the hovering presence of McCoy long enough, meeting casually with small groups inside each department. He was officially off duty and that seemed to put his crew more at ease. If they all got to know each other as people, that gap would close and Kirk dearly wanted that gap to close. It could kill them otherwise.

While they talked, he looked for his own Ensign Pullman. He looked for women in his crew who could be fully comfortable in their own skin, who had the confidence to take charge in an emergency, who had what it took to grow into well-polished officers. If he had one, there was no way of knowing. Male crewmembers were, on the whole, more than willing to show you what they had to offer, even if it was mistakenly overconfident. Women held back. When an opening came, they may step into it. If directly asked, they would answer, up to a point. It was aggravating beyond belief.

Kirk wondered if they had failed to explain how to handle this in command school. Or had he not paid any attention when they did? At the end of the week, he could have forty Ensign Pullmans and not know it. Everyone: man, woman, other, was here because they were exemplary in all ways. All ways. But it didn't show on the surface of all of them. He kept thinking about his reputation for bedding any woman he found alluring. But what did that mean here on the ship? It shouldn't mean anything. The men around him had always responded so positively he'd never imagined there could be a downside.

Orders finally came through. Kirk had never dived so thoroughly into any document from Command. A nice safe scientific mission to explore an unexplained astral phenomenon. Kirk should have chaffed at it, but he was relieved. He needed time to get to know his crew better. Run drills. Run drills no one had ever thought of before, drills that got every last one of them to reach into themselves and know their own potential so they could wear it with pride. So he could see it.

In his copious downtime in his quiet quarters, Kirk had the central computer read out everything it had on Vulcan emotion and touch telepathy. There had been less of it than of any other topic in the databanks and what had been there had been remarkably unhelpful. Kirk sat at his desk after asking it to repeat the sections on telepathic links between related family members. it was late and Kirk should already have been asleep. He was still up because he was wavering on talking to Spock and hated that it was happening. His First seemed so normal, so controlled, that he was beginning to fool himself into relaxing his concern. And as his duties filled his day again, and tensions rose, the opportunity to talk was going to become difficult to find, if not dangerous to the ship, if Kirk disrupted a mission doing it.

The computer said, "End of file."

Kirk hadn't really been listening. And Spock wasn't like other Vulcans, no matter how hard he tried to be. That human genetics thrown in the mix made what the computer had to say even less relevant.

Kirk reached for the switch. Spock had been getting by under Pike for eleven years just fine. There was no reason to assume he wasn't still fine.

Kirk moved his hand away from the switch. "Computer, what is the origin of the phrase . . . 'a hundred years of waking death'?"

"Working."

Kirk waited. The only reason he had asked that was that he was too tired to not ask that.

"It is a reference to Vulcan literature, used from some of the earliest writings, although it has become less common in the last six hundred years."

Kirk felt chilled. He had no choice but to take action. Consequences be damned. "What does it mean?"

"Working."

"It refers to the average Vulcan lifespan, after maturity, measured in Vulcan years, which is equivalent to approximately one hundred and seventy earth years. The literary meaning is varied. It can be an expression used for one who has suffered an emotional blow too significant to recover from, who must live with mental controls too strong to appreciate living."

Kirk said, "I thought that described all Vulcans."

The computer ignored him. "This meaning is more prominent in references predating the time of the philosopher Surak when stories of single survivors of battles between communities were common. It can also refer to someone who has lost an unusually close mate young and is not fit to be bonded to another. Further, it can refer to someone who suffers an injury or illness of the mind that makes it impossible to function properly within the strictures of Vulcan society, although this usage is far less common."

Apparently, studying Vulcan literature would get Kirk a lot farther understanding Vulcans than the computer's scientific summaries. That he had not considered.

Tomorrow he would talk to Spock. Come hell or high water.

The next morning McCoy reluctantly certified Kirk for full time duty and Kirk used it to hold a formal three hour meeting with the department heads. He didn't order them to do anything. He asked questions and let them talk. At the end of it, everyone was all smiles. The relief that their captain was healthy and on duty was palpable.

Kirk remained sitting as the conference room emptied. McCoy came back over to check on him. Kirk shooed him away.

When Spock turned off the monitor and stood up, Kirk said, "Stay for a minute, Commander."

Spock didn't resume his seat. He straightened his tapes and waited beside his chair.

McCoy shot a glance back then departed.

Kirk did not have a plan. He had intended to have a plan before this moment but had failed.

Kirk's voice was probing. "How are you doing, Spock?"

Spock registered surprise by raising both brows. "I am quite well, Captain." He seemed to want to say more but fell silent.

Kirk said, "Something else?"

"I was curious how you were faring, yourself, Captain."

He wanted to reassure Spock, and his voice sounded inappropriately gentle as he said, "A little tired for a mere meeting, but doing well."

Spock didn't react, so perhaps it hadn't been too strange a tone, or perhaps Spock truly could not read humans.

The moment passed.

"Was there something you wished to discuss, Captain?"

"There is."

As badly as Kirk felt for the man before him, he couldn't broach the subject. Or perhaps because he felt so much for him. He respected him too much to want to risk the awkwardness, and possible pushback, or even lashing out. Plus, he didn't really know what the subject was, only the symptoms of it.

Kirk rubbed his chin and gave an awkward smile which was probably the wrong signal for a non-human. "I don't know how to start."

"Is it regarding the drills you wish to run? You seemed quite adamant, but did not finalize a plan."

"I am interested in working that out. I'm not sure how to broach the heart of that topic, even with my officers. It can get touchy getting into gender differences."

The comm whistled. "Bridge to captain."

Kirk went to the comm, annoyed that he felt relieved to be rescued from the conversation he'd started.

He told the comm he'd be on the bridge in half a minute and with a nod, Spock followed.

On the bridge, Kirk took his seat and watched his bridge crew work. The sensors were quiet for three hours.

"It was just a blip, sir," Mr. Sulu said. "Sorry if we called you up for no reason."

"Mr. Sulu, I don't want you apologize that something may be nothing. It usually will be and the one time it's not is when we will be in trouble if we dismiss it. Lt. Uhura . . ."

"Sir?"

Kirk stood up and went to her station. She had a quiet strength that he had learned to rely on without appreciating what it took to maintain it. He should air his concerns to her about the rest of the female crew and see what she said. Even if his questions turned out to be embarrassingly ignorant, he expected she'd keep that to herself.

"Any chance that was not a communications blip we encountered?"

She took the receiver from her ear. "Since we reversed and passed through the same zone again a light hour back and did not re-receive it, I suspect a focused communications beam, sir, that dissipated."

Kirk raised a finger. "Good point." He was too tired to be on the bridge. He should have thought of that. But that was also his crew's job. He had to give them all space to do their job.

Kirk said, "I think we should resume course and see if we get a new transmission. Barring any way of identifying the source we are wasting time out here. Helm."

"Yes, sir." The navigator began entering new coordinates.

If Kirk was going to be on the bridge he needed to appear strong or go and get a rest. "Mr. Spock. Take the Con."

"Yes, Captain."

Kirk received a long look before Spock assumed the captain's chair. Kirk gave him a weak smile to ease his mind. He'd be better tomorrow. McCoy promised he'd feel noticeably better every day. He'd feel better faster if the memory of that pain wasn't haunting him at night. He'd feel better if he could act like a commander, even when it was personally risky.

* * *

Two more chapters to go. 5 is getting a bit long.


	5. Confrontation

The next shift was uneventful. Kirk spent a lot of it bothering Lt. Uhura about methods for focusing transmissions onto a single receiver across light years until he sensed her annoyance with his interfering with her duties.

He decided he was at least partly trying to make up for not speaking with Spock. Instead of seeking out the Vulcan the evening before, he'd let McCoy charm him until his healing body had forced him to sleep. That had likely been McCoy's intent. Kirk watched Spock at his station a long moment before departing for dinner alone. In the turbolift, Kirk wondered what was wrong with him that he couldn't act. In a twisted way, it was Mitchell all over again.

Kirk signaled at Spock's door that evening after the ship quieted, again without a concrete plan, but with a drive to action he would not be swayed from. Spock answered wearing a Vulcan robe, a many layered number with sleeves that were illogically long compared to the rest of it.

"Come in, Captain."

Kirk had never been in Spock's quarters and he turned slowly, taking them in. He could easily forget he was on the Enterprise. The lighting was modified from standard, seeming to come from the floor. A large lyre sat on the shelf beside alien objects. A demon statue sat in the corner of the bed chamber, with a flame flickering inside it. It was unbelievably warm.

Spock instructed the computer to lower the temperature.

"Feels good at first," Kirk said lightly. "Thanks."

Spock nodded solemnly.

The room had derailed Kirk's intentions. But barring a ship-wide emergency, he was determined not to leave Spock's quarters without at least expressing his concerns. Dealing with them, he had little hope for, but he would at least bring the topic up for discussion so he could understand it.

"I need to speak with you, but as you may have noticed, I'm having trouble." Kirk rubbed his face, trying to find a plan, find words that wouldn't hurt in ways he could not fathom.

"Do you wish to sit down, Captain?"

"Yes, I suppose I do."

Kirk swung into the chair at the desk. Spock didn't have a visitor's chair, or visitor's couch. He had no visitor seating at all. Spock stood beside the desk, hands clasped behind his back.

Kirk felt suspended between his absolute respect for Spock's desire to set himself apart and the memory of the pain. He didn't feel like a legend, but he did feel like a personnel manager with insufficient skills.

"I need help, Spock," Kirk said because the silence had gone on too long.

Spock physically reacted to this. He shifted his hands to clasp them before himself and turned to Kirk. "What can I help you with, Captain?"

Kirk's heart raced ahead a few beats. He hadn't meant to plead. Or nearly plead. "Great Bird, Spock, call me Jim for just a few minutes." He hadn't meant to snap either. "Sorry."

Kirk put his hands flat down on the empty desk, fingers on the monitor switches. "I'm realizing the last few weeks that I don't know how best to manage having full command. If I act on instinct things go better, but other things start to get neglected. And if I over-think it, I don't do anything at all. Case in point, talking to you. About a difficult subject." But as he spoke he felt as though he hedging around the truth. Something felt wrong with him. But only when he tried to bring up this topic.

Kirk craned his neck to up at him. "I wish you'd sit down." As he said it he remembered that there wasn't another chair. This alien room seemed to have undone him and that was unacceptable.

Spock went to the sleeping alcove and returned with a stone stool which he placed beside the partition wall. His movements were unhurried, obedient. The obedience calmed Kirk considerably. He was appreciating more the possibility that his actions could drive Spock completely away.

The temperature in the room was comfortable now. Kirk wondered if Spock was cold, but he gave no sign of it and Kirk doubted it given the robes he wore.

"I'm sorry for what I'm about to do," Kirk said. Saying that broke the log-jam in his mind and he felt freer to act.

Spock's left brow rose.

Kirk went on. "But I have no choice, personal or command, or otherwise. But I am sorry."

Spock said after a pause, "You stated that you needed my help. How can I be of assistance?"

Earnestness from a Vulcan. Kirk smiled at this, feeling relieved.

"On V Pegasi 9, when I was hit . . . I noticed something. But it took me a while to understand it." Kirk paused to assess Spock's reaction. He still appeared earnest; all those marvelous faculties engaged on Kirk's words. Kirk licked his lips, which had dried in the heat of the room. "You were touching me, and—I assume that's why I could discern it in the first place—I noticed a lot of pain . . . that I'm pretty sure wasn't mine."

Spock's face shuttered. The wall was back in an instant and Kirk was going to run smack into it with whatever he said next. He stubbornly waited for Spock to say something.

"To what is this relevant, Cap-" He pursed his lips, made a point of the word. "Captain."

Kirk pursued. He felt energy flowing into his limbs. "It's relevant to me knowing my crew are fit and I won't have any surprises." Wrong answer, Kirk. That was the last thing on his mind. Spock's professionalism was dictating his mode. Something about Spock, this room, or just Spock was influencing him.

Spock's gaze held wariness. Then it was masked. His low seat left his face half in shadow.

"And this is what I'm really sorry for," Kirk said, plowing ahead through a renewed reluctance to break down Spock's barriers. "I pretty sure it was your pain I was feeling and I want to know why you were feeling it." He waited for a reaction that wasn't there. Then he waited to see how non-reactive Spock could be. Very non-reactive. He could have been a statue like the one in the corner.

Kirk said, "I didn't mean to bring this to a confrontation. I don't know with absolute certainty whose pain you were feeling because I don't know how your touch telepathy works. The computer doesn't have specific information, or it does, from a physical, neural perspective. It can talk all day about all kinds of non-verbal, sympathetic neural communication, but it doesn't help me figure out what happened."

Kirk waited again. Spock was determined not to help. Unless just remaining in place was a struggle he was mastering.

"I've made all kinds of guesses," Kirk went on. "Perhaps you were feeling my pain and amplifying it back at me. But I don't think so as much as I want that to be the explanation." He clasped his hands before himself and leaned down toward Spock to be at eye level. The desk was no longer between them. "I was a little out sorts so I didn't understand at the time what was happening."

Spock's voice was level. "This is a deeply personal issue and I do not wish to discuss it any further."

Kirk sat back, trying to find an alternative approach. If it wasn't too late.

Movements crisp, Spock stood. "Has my performance given you any cause for concern?"

"No, of course not."

"Then I believe there is no reason to continue this conversation, Captain."

The angles of Spock's face stood out. Kirk wondered if he was seeing anger. Spock could break the desk in half if he let loose. Kirk didn't believe he would, except with the 1% of his mind that always watched for these things.

"Your performance wasn't impacted this time, Spock." He wanted to point out that he hadn't given Spock permission to stand. He hesitated and said as gently as he could, "Sit down, Spock."

Kirk let himself plead. "Don't make me tear you down to get through this. Help me, here."

Spock didn't move. He stood as straight as the partition.

Kirk rested his head back on the chair. "You are going to listen to me talk, even if you aren't going to respond." He rocked back and forth in the chair and sat up straight. His healing body was reminding him that it wanted a long rest period after a long day. He ignored it.

He said, "You've confirmed for me that it was your pain, and only your pain. Otherwise we wouldn't be at an impasse."

Kirk waited. Nothing. He forced himself to relax when what he really wanted to do was move. Shake something, or someone. He sighed, wished for a drink, touched the switches on the desk again. "I don't think you realize how much I care about you." He met Spock's eyes, which were almost flat, but with a hint of trapped animal. "And believe me, I realize how little I'm showing that by my actions right now."

He continued, "I don't think you recognize the concept of friendship, so I won't claim that over you, but you are my colleague and my official responsibility. At all levels."

Kirk waited again. There was a slight improvement in the hint of trapped animal. Spock's gaze had been without hints of any kind when Kirk first took command. Either Spock had weakened, or Kirk had learned to read him faster than he'd thought possible at first meeting.

"You operate under a mistaken assumption," Spock said, voice tight and corrective. Almost insulting. But Kirk was so pleased Spock was speaking that he didn't take umbrage.

"You assume that this is a situation you are capable of comprehending. In this you are in error. You assume you can take some kind of corrective action regarding said situation, even if you could understand it, and in this you compound your error. You exhibit the typical human trait of those in leadership of acting without facts and assuming without logic."

Kirk pinched his lip, buoyed by this long tirade. "Spock, do you remember the first chess match you lost to me?"

Spock's reply was to stand straighter.

"Do you remember why you lost? You played assuming everything you just said was true, then let me take advantage of the openings that left in your defense because you couldn't identify any tactics that didn't fit those assumptions."

Spock appeared thoughtful, but still closed up.

Kirk said, "You know I can't let this go. If only because I'm your commander and I need to understand what's going on with you emotionally. If I think something is wrong. I have a duty to address it."

This time it was definite anger shaping Spock's face, Kirk was certain of it. He'd hauled out the dreaded word and stuck it right into Spock.

"But to hell with that," Kirk said, and Spock blinked out of turn in surprise. "I probably wouldn't be here tormenting you if I were only worried that you might crack at some inconvenient moment. Because I don't think you will. I think you would outlast the entire rest of the crew if the situation got really grim. No, I'm here because I can't leave this as it is. For personal reasons. I. Can't. Bear. The. Thought of it. It wouldn't be me to let it go. I would despise myself and it wouldn't be fair to you, believe it or not."

Kirk dropped the forceful voice for a softer one. "Spock. I've never felt such pain. I need to know if this is something you suffer all the time or just sometimes."

He watched Spock adjust. The Vulcan swallowed hard. Kirk felt badly for getting through to him.

"I do not wish to speak of it." This came out low and quiet.


	6. Connection

Kirk tried not to show his disappointment. "Let's address this from another angle, Commander. Why was I feeling your pain at all? I get the sense that's not expected."

"I do not know. I was shielding my mind as I would do anytime I am in in contact with another. You should have felt nothing."

"Huh. Give me a few theories, Science Officer, why I might have been feeling what you were feeling."

Spock's expression pulled inward. He shook his head. "There are instances when two Vulcan minds that are highly attuned by chance can communicate across distance and through mind blocks. They are rare. And there is no reason to assume it applies here. You have no extra sensory skills, which would be how this ability would manifest itself given that you are fully human."

"This ship would have been destroyed if I did."

"Indeed. So we can discount an error in any past measurements of your abilities in this area."

When Spock fell quiet, Kirk said, "But you are half human."

"I fail to understand-"

"You said 'attuned.' What if your human half is attuned to me." Indeed, Kirk thought, maybe that's why reading you came so easily; why feeling affection is so natural.

"That does not follow logically, given that we are discussing telepathy. But I also have no good explanation, so I cannot dismiss your theory outright."

Kirk wasn't accustomed to scientific Spock speaking so uneasily as though theory were a personal minefield. It made for a strange show.

"Any other ideas?"

"Possibly my shielding is weaker than I realize."

"You were a little distracted."

Spock shook his head. "That is no matter. I am more than adept in the mental faculties of mind blocking. I would not have joined Starfleet otherwise. I am more inclined to the first theory than the second. I have no other theories except a difference of perception in what occurred."

Kirk rocked back in his chair. "Let's drop it for now. What I do need to know is how often do you feel that much pain. I need to know as your commander."

"There is no one clear answer to that question. We do not have a common frame of reference."

Kirk scratched his face thoughtfully, relieved Spock wasn't shutting him down. "I'm not sure how to phrase it then. I thought I was dying. The memory of the pain is giving me symptoms of post trauma stress. I wake up in a sweat remembering it."

Spock's head twitched to the side. Voice low, he said, "I perhaps better understand your pursuit of this issue, Captain."

"I'll happily suffer if I can do something for you."

Spock shook his head and sounded like himself again. "You are in error."

Kirk clasped his hands and studied them, then studied Spock, who seemed to be hanging suspended rather than standing.

"Are you sure? If we are following theory one, that we are attuned in some way, then I don't want to be so dismissive of possible remedies. But I still need to rephrase my question before we get to that." Kirk sighed. "Sorry for this. Again. That wasn't physical pain, it was emotional. Is this a feature of your dual nature?"

"I do not know. I do not have a experimental control upon which to make a judgement."

Thank the Great Bird, Spock answered.

Kirk said, "What about that level of pain? Did you experience anything like it the day before?"

"No. That is not normal."

"Well, that's a relief." Kirk rubbed his fingertips over his forehead. He really needed to sleep. "It's easy to underestimate what you might be going through, moment to moment, you hide it so well. I know you'd like to be overlooked for concern. I expect that's one of the goals for the way you conduct yourself. But I don't want that to happen. Whether you can perform normally under those circumstances or not, it matters to me. Like I said, I care about you, personally."

"I do not understand that sentiment. It is unwise of you as you will need to command me in many kinds of circumstances."

"Just like you, Spock, I have emotions that I ignore to make important decisions. I understand my responsibilities only too well." Kirk rested his head back on the chair again.

"You are fatigued, Captain."

"Yes. But I'm getting through to you, so I'm not giving up just yet." He smiled at him.

"Your persistence and lack of reprimanding of my behavior is unexpected."

"I was willing to lose you to get through to you. Remember that next time we play chess."

Spock looked behind him at the stone stool and resumed his seat. Kirk wanted to hug him. Kirk held out his hand. Spock stared at it.

"Aren't you curious, Science Officer?"

Spock paused. He stared at Kirk's open hand, palm up, for longer than it would have taken him to compute a course through an asteroid belt. Spock closed his eyes. Opened them, and slid his fingers over Kirk's. They were warm and dry. Kirk felt nothing beyond his own relief. He didn't want to lose Spock, for many reasons.

No, he did feel something. Something he'd never felt before. Constricted control. The mental equivalent of a narrow labyrinth of bank vaults. Beyond them, something vibrated, resonated, hid, surged.

Spock pulled his hand free. Kirk left his held out.

Kirk said, "I sensed something. Like strong walls. Narrow stone corridors. But not real."

"You should not have been sensing that. That is the very control that should be shielding you out."

Spock sat calmly now, composed more normally, although wary. Kirk hated to risk alienating him again. But maybe Spock was emotionally fatigued and at worst would give way and regret it later rather than shutting down again.

Voice gentle, Kirk said, "Do you know what brought on that pain?"

"I have been meditating on that, Captain and am not entirely certain. But it is not welcome."

"I imagine not." Kirk sighed. "I'd feel better if I understood. Then I can help you in case it happens again."

Spock angled his head away and swallowed hard. "I do not want assistance, Captain."

"I know this is uncomfortable. Believe me, I don't like doing this to you. Can you help me understand what caused the pain. And then I'll leave you be."

Without looking away from the corner of the room, Spock said, "You were mortally wounded." He looked like he wanted to say more but stopped to concentrate on his control.

Kirk rubbed his chin. "I suspected sympathetic pain was the cause, but I didn't want to think that highly of myself and assume."

"That is the terminology for it? You know of this?"

Kirk nodded.

"It was not in the least useful. I concede that among social beings some emotional reactions are potentially useful." Spock finally looked at him again. "This was not."

"If it makes you feel any better, I'd feel the same for you."

"Would you?" When Kirk nodded, Spock lightly rolled his eyes. "A most inconvenient emotion. That I have no training to suppress it confirms that it is unique to humans."

"Or exacerbated by the situation." Kirk said. "Would it bother you to know that our minds were attuned?"

Spock's brow jumped. "No. That would be illogical. It is not something I could change."

"And it may be useful."

Spock gave a small crooked nod.

"I realize it will be a long time before you and I know each other really well, Spock. And I know your pride makes it impossible for you to accept anything from me, but I have to offer. If there is anything I can do for you, I'm always here if you need me."

"There is nothing you can do, Jim."

His first name washed through Kirk. Spock had used it before, but only in desperation over Mitchell or in desperation when Balak had promised to destroy the ship.

"I don't believe that's true, Science Officer. I think you're overlooking how our minds seem to be linked. But I'll let it go for now. Thank you for letting me in as much as you did."

Spock said, "I believe you should be resting, Captain."

Ah, the source of the pain in the first place, Kirk thought. But he nodded. "I made some poor assumptions about you. I assumed you were in such a fine state of control because you had less to keep control of. That was in error. I'm probably making the same mistaken assumptions about everyone on the ship."

"Including yourself, Jim?"

Kirk grinned. "Yes."

Spock said, "Your leadership skills are not something I easily recognize, nor am I capable of assessing except by outcomes that are themselves often hard to measure."

Kirk waited, but that seemed to be the end of the thought. "Am I that different from Pike?"

"Yes. In ways not immediately apparent because command decisions are not fully transparent, often happening as they are moment to moment. And command style is an art, not a science, and therefore out of my purview."

Did you feel the same kind of pain for Pike when he was in jeopardy, Kirk longed to ask, but he'd just be stoking his own ego and pushing too far. The question seemed to hang in the air.

"The answer to your question is 'no'," Spock said. His eyes were glittering, as if he enjoyed one-upping Kirk.

Kirk stared at him in pleased surprise. "Well, Mr. Spock. I don't mean to make trouble for you. Although I assume you live among humans because you want more trouble."

Again something hung in the air. This wasn't a welcome topic.

"Sorry," Kirk said. He stood up and Spock immediately mirrored him. "Someday when we are old and gray and hanging around the Starfleet retirement colony we can swap stories of how we came to be in this place. By then it won't hurt anymore."

Spock's brows came together. "Am I to assume that there is a difficult background behind your journey to this captaincy? I can garner no such conclusion from reading your records."

Kirk thought of the years of fantasy of finding his father. How that made him apply for every space and science program he could, no matter how many other fun things he could have been doing. When he wasn't driven to that, feeling so lost he wished for the world to sink into a singularity and swallow him up. And always trying to please that forever absent man who would never be pleased. "Probably more than you expect. Certainly not going to leave it hanging out there for just anyone to see."

"Indeed not."

Spock was considering him and Kirk wondered if he was picking anything up. Spock was more likely to master this attuning than himself. Kirk felt not alarm, but relief at the idea of being read so easily. By Spock. It took a burden off his mind and left him lighter. An understanding companion. Not a companion like Mitchell who teased and judged and acted like a friend when it suited him. And bullied when he had the power to. Not like that. Like a fortress whose fortifications were at Kirk's service.

Kirk said, "I can't tell you how relieved I am to have aired this issue out. But I'll leave you be. McCoy is going to hunt me down in a few minutes. He seems to drop by about now every night."

Spock wasn't watching him; he was studying him. Kirk was sharply aware of the attention as he slid out from behind the desk. He put his hand on the corner of the desk and gave Spock the same attention back. He couldn't sense anything, except his own fatigue and release from anxiety. He had connected with this enigmatic man, found a way inside his citadel of pride, he wasn't going to be alone in this command. He had this rock, this well of strength, whose depths he could only guess at, as a companion. And he felt good.

Spock said, "I trust you will not have any further difficulties sleeping."

Kirk required a moment to realize Spock was referring to re-experiencing his pain. "If I do, I'll handle it."

The desk comm chimed. Spock reached over to press it. It was McCoy.

"Yes, Doctor. The Captain is here."

"Just wanted to know where he'd wandered off to. I'll see him in his quarters when he's available."

Spock thumbed the comm off. "How soon before you are 100%, Captain?"

Kirk wanted to say, if we're alone, always call me Jim, but he didn't want to press. "Bones says another eight days. New cells need a lot of time to acclimate and toughen up. His words."

"Those do sound like the good doctor's words."

Kirk laughed. "On a related topic. I've told him to back off, in no uncertain terms. If he doesn't, feel free to not hold back."

"I trust that will not be necessary, Jim."

A pleasing happiness rolled through Kirk. He hadn't alienated this man, and he wasn't alone in this impossible, legendary command.

At the door, he said, "Good, night, Spock." He almost added, that if he could do anything for Spock, to just call him, any time of night. But he didn't. Words reduced the sentiment as well as potentially damaged the ego. He stayed in the doorway while the idea hung there.

With level aplomb, Spock nodded. "Good night, Captain."

"There you are," McCoy said, stepping over. "Spock."

"Doctor."

McCoy laid into Kirk, "Where have you been? I let you out of sickbay and back to full time duty with certain limitations. Captain."

"It's been a week. And I was only talking to Spock."

"Yeah, and you're swaying on your feet."

Kirk waved at Spock just before the doors triggered closed. He sensed that anything he might have added, he didn't need to say.

* * *

FINI

I'm hashing out another story. Hopefully I can start posting next week. Thanks for reading.


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